


Bitter Gifts

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel)



Series: Smoke and Mirrors [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Blow Jobs, Community: sons_of_gondor, Dark, Dark Past, Drinking, England (Country), Face-Fucking, Finger Sucking, Intrigue, Kissing, London, M/M, Magic, Making Out, Prequel, Psychic Abilities, Secrets, Supernatural Elements, Underage Prostitution, Victorian, Visions, Warm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Sinclair is heir to a title, land and wealth in England circa 1850. Privileged and talented in ways most people dream of, Harry finds his own gifts sometimes are better described as nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitter Gifts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Savageseraph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/gifts).



> A Victorian AU written for the [](http://sons-of-gondor.livejournal.com/profile)[**sons_of_gondor**](http://sons-of-gondor.livejournal.com/) 2013 Trick-or-Treat Fic/Art Exchange. It certainly acts as a stand-alone, but can also be read as a prequel to [Natural Talents](http://slashababy.livejournal.com/146802.html). Barb asked for it, I wrote it. ^_~ Happy Halloween, madame!

It was a wonder that they made it up the stairs, as unsteady as they were on their feet, propping each other up by accident rather than design. The spirits had flowed freely this evening, leaving every seance attendee pleasantly tipsy on gin and ghosts. The little medium appeared to be legitimate, a welcome addition to the club's circle, despite his youth and penchant for overacting, but it made for a boisterous gathering, and that was the kind of distraction Harry needed right now.

The other distraction he was even more pleased to have on his hands was the golden boy who was currently clinging to his side, murmuring nonsense in his ear, nipping at his lobe and paying little to no attention to lifting his feet over the threshold to Harry's apartments.

"Sean. Sean, wait a moment. Wait until--" Harry chuckled as Sean's fingers found their way beneath his waistcoat, tugging at his shirtfront, rucking the cloth back and forth against his stomach, tickling against his skin.

"Mmm. Harry," Sean murmured, nipping gently at the tender skin below Harry's ear just as Harry released the latch on his door, mercifully providing access before any other lodgers happened upon them. Even though his father owned the property, it still wasn't wise to be caught out with another young man in any context other than youthful drunken exuberance. Their own more gifted circles might take no issue with the proclivities of the talented, but Harry laboured under the weight of his familial obligations, and those could only be denied for so long.

They stumbled into the darkness of Harry's rooms, nothing but the light from the streets filtering through the curtains to illuminate their way. The air was cool, no fire or lamp lit, but Harry hardly had time to feel the chill. As soon as the door shut behind them, Sean was upon him, pushing him against the wood, nipping his way up the length of Harry's neck, across his jawline, and over his chin. Sean kissed Harry with abandon, having long since forsaken any pretence of foreplay at the bottom of a tumbler of gin.

Harry groaned, wrapping his arms around Sean's back, letting him lead. He tasted sweet, like Old Tom, which warred with the spice of incense that still clung to them both. Harry luxuriated in the way Sean's skin heated under his hands, even through his clothing; Harry's very own portable furnace, the coldest of rooms losing their chill when Sean was pressed up against him. It wasn't long before Sean's fingers were finding their way back to the fastenings of Harry's clothes, waistcoat and shirt no match for determined hands. Harry's skin prickled as Sean's nails scratched lightly at his abdomen, as Sean's palms stroked up his chest.

He didn't need to see to picture the satisfied look on Sean's face as he broke the kiss, drawing a moan from deep in Harry's chest. But as Sean began to slip from Harry's grip, kissing and nipping a path down Harry's chest, Harry grasped his shoulder. "Wait," he murmured. "We need a little light."

Sean sighed and released Harry, leaning back to give him enough space to move. "Hurry," he breathed, the sound alone making Harry shiver as if Sean had exhaled directly across his skin. Navigating the flat in the dark was a simple matter, followed by a slightly more complex quest to locate a matchbox nearest the closest table lamp without knocking the latter over. After one or two blind strikes, the match-head caught, flaming bright and clear long enough for Harry to lift the glass and light the wick. As the lamp came to life, the gloom retreated, and the match flame, forgotten only momentarily in Harry's fingers, crawled high enough to have Harry hissing and shaking his hand against the burn. He dropped the spent stick in a nearby small dish repurposed specifically for cast-off matches, and lowered the lamp's glass back in place.

He sucked on his burnt fingertips as he turned back to Sean, now bathed in a soft, warm glow. Sometime while Harry had been fiddling with the light, Sean had settled back onto his haunches, expression all bemusement. He held out his hand, grinning. "Come here."

Harry glanced away from Sean only briefly, looking toward the doors to his bedroom. He supposed that now that they were hidden from prying eyes, they had all night to do as they wished. Bed could wait; he had all the time in the world to hurt Sean in _all_ the right ways, and there was no reason not to strike while the iron was hot and indulge Sean in this moment. If that meant he was happiest servicing Harry up against the nearest wall, then so be it. He could feel a decidedly wicked grin curving up the corners of his mouth as he closed the distance and reached for Sean's hand.

He shuddered as Sean lifted Harry's hand and drew his burned fingers into his mouth; slick, wet, soothing heat closed around them as Sean sucked slowly, firmly, rubbing his tongue against each digit, running his tonguetip up and down each knuckle and pad. Harry bit his lip, unsure what was more arousing: the feel of Sean's mouth, or the vision of his fingers slipping between Sean's lips, over and over and over again.

Sean gave him a little nudge as he released Harry's fingers, gently guiding him to lean back against the door. Once he felt Harry was properly positioned, his very clever fingers went to work on the fastenings of Harry's trousers, their dexterity surprisingly unimpeded by the copious drinks they both had indulged in over the course of the evening. Trust Sean to be perfectly focussed when it came to his own personal goals. Harry had never met anyone so determined; if there was something Sean wanted, then by God, he was going to get it, and luckily for Harry, that worked in his favour more often than not.

If he'd thought that having Sean suck on his fingers was good, sinking his cock into the heat of Sean's mouth was even better. No matter how many times they did this, Harry always found himself caught off guard by the sensations that washed over him. Sean liked to take him deep quickly, always making a softly pleased sound in the back of his throat as Harry groaned. It had taken Harry multiple encounters just like this one to even hear it, but now that he had, he strained his ears each time so he could hear it once again.

Sean rubbed his tongue against the shaft, sucking firmly just as he had with Harry's fingers, yet instead of grasping the base as he had Harry's wrist, he shifted up onto his knees, leaning forward and placing his hands on either side of Harry's legs, palms flat against the door. He began to rock forwards and back, tightening his throat around Harry's cock as he took him in, scraping his teeth ever so lightly in the tiniest hint of a tease as he pulled away. Harry looked down, watching Sean with rapt attention as he bobbed his head, made soft sounds of pleasure and encouragement whenever Harry shifted or moaned. It was obscene. The entire scene, the entire image was the epitome of debauchery, the both of them in an increasingly disarrayed state of undress, Sean's hair begging to be mussed even further than it already had been, his lips red and stretched around Harry's cock. It was perverse, it was wrong, and it was _oh, so good_.

Giving in to the impulse, Harry reached out and ran his fingers through Sean's hair, tugging and stroking before letting his hands slide down either side of Sean's neck. He smiled as Sean arched, shivered as Sean paused to flick his tonguetip back and forth over the head of his cock, making him just that much harder.

He cupped Sean's cheeks in both hands, biting his lip as Sean slowed his own movements, settled back once again on his haunches, and looked up at Harry with wide-open eyes. Harry didn't miss the shudder that ran through Sean's body as Harry started to move, nor did he miss the way Sean dropped a hand to his lap and cupped himself through the front of his trousers. He supposed he could bark an order that would have Sean balling his fists at his sides, that would have him twisting and turning in frustration at a word, but those games could wait their turn; there was power in taking what was freely given, in taking and giving it back. Now was the time to simply enjoy what Sean offered, and to make sure he enjoyed it too. So he held Sean's head steady as his thrusts lengthened and firmed up, as he watched his hips press forward and his cock disappear into Sean's mouth. His breath hitched as the head of his cock bumped against the back of Sean's throat, as he felt Sean's throat open a little more. Even in the indistinct glow of the lamplight, he could see Sean's skin beginning to flush, spreading out from his cheeks to his neck and disappearing beneath his collar. Harry vowed to follow the path of that blush, to chase it down Sean's body, trace every mark it left and leave marks of his own.

Harry shuddered heavily, holding Sean's head even tighter between his hands. Sean's eyes slipped closed as Harry's thrusts sped up, and though Harry's heartbeat drummed fast and loud in his ears, he felt the vibrations of whatever soft sounds Sean was making run up and down his cock. He felt himself twitch, felt his balls draw closer to his body, heavy and full, and as his hips snapped forward, as he felt himself teeter on the edge as he drove himself deeply into Sean's mouth--

_\--he looked down into the wide-open eyes of a boy who could hardly be of an age, who should definitely not be kneeling for a man perhaps ten years his senior, and who was utterly, startlingly, unnervingly familiar. Those same startling green eyes stared up at him, that same mop of blonde hair, the same oddly pointed ears, that selfsame strong jaw... Yet there was no trace of the impeccable clothes, the precise haircut, the carefully-crafted persona that made Sean as thoroughly disarming a person as he was. No, instead the boy showed all the signs of neglect, of thin years on the street, of no coin to replace threadbare clothes that had become too small even as they were inexpertly mended over and over, and his eyes... They were the eyes of someone who had not yet learned to mask resentment or fear, that had not yet found a way to cloak loathing and desperation behind the pretty niceties that came with wealth and good fortune._

_No, this was a boy who was far from the childhood that Harry had known, that most of their circle of friends had known, who had found ways to survive that could not be spoken of amongst polite company._

_And one of those ways was what he was plying right now, the wink of a coin just visible between fingers clenched at his side. Harry's stomach roiled as he realized he was driving into this boy's mouth, into his throat, and that try as he might, he could not will himself to stop. He could not let go of the boy's cheeks, could not draw back from him, and when he tried to open his mouth to speak, all he managed was a low groan. It was as if he was divorced from his body, nothing more than an observer in the scene, but trapped into feeling every movement and moment: the cobblestones under his feet, the chill of the air, the sickeningly sweet stench of rotting waste, and the hot, tight friction clenching rhythmically around his cock._

_Harry bit down on the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain would jostle him out of this horrible dream, but he felt only the faintest scrape of his own teeth as he kept driving forward, over and over and over, his balls growing heavy, his cock twitching as he--_

\--shuddered and twisted, crying out as he came.

Harry dropped his hands from Sean's head immediately, blinking away the vision as a shudder that was anything but pleasure ran through his whole body. It took a moment of looking around, reassuring himself that he was in his apartments, that there was no street, no boy, that he was in control of his own movements, his own limbs, before he convinced himself the images were gone. It had been some time since he'd been so very caught off guard, and that left him unnerved almost as much as what he had seen. He swallowed, glancing down at Sean who, by now, had tilted his head to the side and was looking up at him rather oddly. There was no possibility of speaking to him about what he'd seen, not now; he could admit to himself he was shaken, but he could not imagine broaching such a topic with Sean.

Yet there was that curious look, startlingly green eyes that would divine what he was hiding if he gave them a chance. He wet his lips, and managed what he hoped was a convincing smile.

Sean's brow smoothed; Harry felt a measure of relief begin to flood through him. "Good?" Sean asked, swiping at the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb.

"Good." Harry nodded, reaching out to stroke Sean's cheek. Yet as his palm brushed Sean's skin, he felt a sliver of ice slide down his spine.


End file.
